A Coin in a Fountain
by Sweet Christabel
Summary: Soulmate AU. In a world where everyone bears a tattoo of the first words their soulmate will say to them, Doug Rattmann must come to terms with his unmarked skin and the fact that it means he faces a life of solitude. But then he spots a woman in the park, a woman he feels compelled to know, and fate has never felt crueller.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Portal. Or Doug Rattmann or Chell. Or Henry. Nor do I own Adrien Brody, who is my reference for Doug whenever I paint him. I didn't get organised enough to paint something for this cover image, but I may eventually replace it.

 **A/N:** This is based on the popular Soulmate AU prompt where everyone is born with a tattoo of the first words their soulmate will say to them. I couldn't help but write one! It's such a fun idea to explore.

* * *

 **A Coin in a Fountain.**

One of the first things anyone learned about the world was what the tattooed words on their forearm meant. Doug's parents had grown up with 'Watch where you're going' and 'Hey' respectively, giving both of them a pretty clear idea of how their first meeting would go. His sister had spent her teenage years agonising over what 'She's cute' would mean in context, daydreaming about the person who would eventually say them to her. Awkwardly, when the time came the words referred to her best friend, but things had worked out eventually, as they always must when soulmates meet.

Doug spent his time forcing cheerfulness, seeking solace and fulfilment in aspects of his life that didn't involve people, all the while painfully conscious of the clear expanse of skin on his arm. It wasn't unknown. A handful of people didn't have soulmates, nor, it seemed, wanted them. Doug, however, dreamed of nothing else.

He valued people: loved his family, felt a rush of joy whenever a friend made contact. Yet it seemed hollow. His fate had already been decided before he even drew breath, and it was a path he was destined to walk alone. In thirty-five years of life, he hadn't been able to make peace with that. Something inside him wouldn't let him, a vacant, empty feeling that made his chest ache. Fate was fate, it was not to be argued with, but it didn't seem fair. Deep down, he knew perfectly well why his arm was blank. He was too strange, had too many quirks. Schizophrenia made him unlovable. Paranoia told him so, even as his medication fought to keep his thoughts more balanced.

Of course, there was no evidence to back it up, and the affection he received from family and friends actually contradicted it, but he couldn't sway from his opinion. It seemed so likely, it had to be true.

Doug had a day job working as a scientist, but his passion was painting. It was a creative outlet for his melancholy. Fully aware of how clichéd it was, he channelled his pain into artistic focus, trying hard to turn his negativity into something positive. He liked to try and capture snapshots of life in paint, covering canvases with portraits of people he knew or models he found in magazines. There were piles of them everywhere in his attic studio, always on hand for when he needed to search for an interesting face.

His days were all much the same, only changing when someone forcibly made him go out or do things differently. His co-worker Henry was the bossiest friend he had, a loud-voiced, brashly confident man with a warm heart that he tried poorly to hide. He was also one of many people who bore the word 'Hi' on their arm, which, according to Henry, made life equal parts difficult and exciting. Doug would have settled happily for a 'Hi'.

He had reluctantly agreed to meet Henry for a cup of take-out coffee in the park, where they planned to sit, chat, and people-watch. People-watching for Doug involved him seeking out figures that intrigued him, faces that he considered paint-worthy. For Henry, it was an opportunity to smile at as many people as possible, in the hope that one of them would greet him with the word he always wanted to hear.

Henry was halfway through a story about a mutual acquaintance when Doug saw _her_. She wasn't doing anything particularly significant, just pausing by the fountain and rifling through her bag, but as she caught and held his attention, Doug felt his breath catch. He barely heard Henry's startled words as he got to his feet and started walking.

She appeared to be deep in thought, swinging her bag over her shoulder having found what she was looking for. Doug kept his eyes on her as he approached, watching her lift her hand. After a moment's pause, she deftly flipped a penny into the fountain. She studied the rippled surface of the water for a beat, then turned to go. Doug put on an extra burst of speed, stepping up to her side as she began to walk away. She turned to him with wide, startled eyes, the clearest shade of lunar grey that he'd ever seen.

"Excuse me," he began awkwardly. "I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm an artist."

She looked at him in confusion, a slight frown creasing her brow.

Doug attempted more clarity. "I'm an artist," he repeated, "who specialises in portraits, and, uh…I know this sounds stupid, but…is there any chance that you'd consider sitting for one?"

He hadn't known he was going to ask until the request left his mouth, but immediately he knew that painting her was something he _had_ to do.

"I'm not trying to pick you up," he added hastily. "I know this sounds like a cheesy line or something, but I promise you it's not that, it's…really not that. You just…" He shrugged helplessly. "You have a very interesting face."

He wasn't surprised to see the sceptical look she fixed him with, but it made his heart sink into his shoes. Fortunately Henry arrived at his shoulder, slightly out of breath.

"Sorry," he said, "he does this."

Doug cringed, although he couldn't regret speaking to her.

"Doug, you need to stop randomly asking people if you can paint them. It's weird. She's going to think you're trying to pick her up."

"I already told her I wasn't," he protested, feeling a wave of embarrassment.

But then, miracle of miracles, the girl smiled in amusement. It wasn't much, but it wasn't her storming off thinking he was a creep either. Doug seized the chance with both hands.

"I promise you I'm sincere about this," he told her earnestly. "But I realise how it sounds. I…could draw you in a public place? If it would make you feel at ease. Right here, even. By the fountain."

She didn't reply, but she seemed intrigued, her expression suggesting that she was taking his request seriously. Her gaze drifted to his right arm, and she seemed disappointed that he was wearing long sleeves. Unable to help it, he glanced at hers, but her jacket was draped over it, hiding her tattoo from view.

For a long moment she looked thoughtful, then she lifted her chin and met his eyes. Her face was serious and laced with a touch of confusion, but she nodded firmly.

Doug smiled in amazed surprise. "Really?"

She lost a little of her solemnity, her mouth quirking in a tiny smile of her own as she nodded again.

"That's great," he exclaimed in a rush. "Uh, thank you. I think you'll be a wonderful subject. I'm Doug. Doug Rattmann." He held out a hand for her to shake.

She obliged him, but still said nothing.

"Unbelievable," Henry murmured behind him.

Ignoring him, Doug ventured, "When would be convenient for you?"

At this, she fished her cell phone from her pocket and typed rapidly. He watched her in mild confusion, leaning in to read the screen when she turned it in his direction.

'This time tomorrow?'

Frowning, he nodded. "Um…yes, that would be fine."

She offered him another small smile, then held up the phone again.

'I'm Chell.'

Doug took in her red-tinged nose and the packet of menthol tissues in the top of her bag, and understanding dawned. She had the nasty cold that had been going around, and had clearly lost her voice.

"Nice to meet you, Chell," he said warmly. "I'll see you tomorrow."

* * *

His sketches of her flowed from his pencil, capturing her image on paper with ease. With coloured pencils, he recreated her steely eyes, tanned skin, warm smile, picked out the gold highlights in her dark hair, and the tough-yet-friendly attitude that she projected. With every expression, every reaction to his chatter, she charmed him. She still couldn't speak, although the redness had almost faded from her nose. When she replied to him, she did so on her phone, and in time Doug almost forgot that it wasn't how he usually had conversations. Chell was witty and clearly intelligent. The more he learned about her, the more she intrigued him.

When his drawings were done, she led him on a walk around the city, showing him her favourite places and waiting while he sketched them. Doug had never spent much time on landscapes, but he found himself with a sudden interest in them. It was as if Chell's presence was injecting colour into his monochrome world, as if he'd been unable to see things without his usual veil of melancholy.

After the walk, they stopped for lunch, sitting by the window so they could people-watch. Chell had some amusing observations about the figures they saw, which his dry sense of humour appreciated. She had quickly lost any apprehension she had started the day with, warming to him with the same ease with which he warmed to her. If he'd been in a poetic mood, he might have said that her smile felt like sunshine through clouds, making him feel honoured to be held in its light. That sounded ridiculous even in his own head, yet he couldn't shake the image. Somehow, she made him feel special. And he'd only known her a day.

It wasn't uncommon for people to connect with each other rapidly, but they were usually people whose tattoos matched their first words. Doug knew that that was impossible for him, yet being with Chell was exactly what he'd imagined finding a soulmate would feel like. It was almost enough to let him pretend for a while, but he couldn't quite manage to forget his unmarked skin.

After lunch, Doug walked her back to the park, both of them meandering at a leisurely pace, loath to part ways.

'Will you do paintings based on your sketches?' she asked him, typing rapidly.

"That's the idea. Although I might need you to come to the studio, if you're okay with that."

His heart leapt at her eager nod.

'I'd like that. I want to see what you create.'

Doug couldn't contain his smile. "Oh, no pressure then."

Chell gave a silent laugh, then sent him a wink.

* * *

One evening later in the week, she came over for a sitting. They were both tired after their respective work days, but Doug felt his fatigue fade when he opened the door to her. Her voice was still gone, but she seemed better otherwise, no longer constantly sniffing.

He'd made a start on her portrait, using a sketch of her smiling upwards, hands raised as if conjuring some kind of spell. He'd decided to portray her as a woodland goddess. Chell grinned when she saw the composition, soon replicating the pose for him so he could paint her features.

For the next hour and a half, Doug worked solidly, crafting her likeness with colour, drawing her out of the canvas. She watched him closely the entire time, fascination in her gaze. At first he interpreted it to be directed at his skill, but occasionally he met her eyes and thought – for a glorious split-second – that he saw something else there. It was distracting enough for him to call a halt for the day.

Chell got up and stretched, her joints popping. Then she moved over to look at his progress, her face lighting up when she saw it.

"Do you like it?" he asked her.

She turned to him with a smile, nodding. He smiled in return, pleased at her approval. He met her gaze, seeing the delight there, and she held him transfixed. The moment hung in time, stretching on forever as his mind raced. He was forced to consider that maybe – just maybe – she admired him just as much as he admired her. Perhaps he wasn't the only one losing his heart at a terrifying rate. Perhaps she felt it too. Perhaps there was hope that…

 _No._ It was impossible.

Doug glanced away and broke the spell, clearing his throat.

"Um…whenever you're free to come again," he said quietly, "I probably only need a couple more sittings."

Chell nodded peaceably, reaching for her cell phone. 'I'll be over tomorrow,' she assured him.

He made himself smile politely. "That would be great."

* * *

When she turned up on his doorstep the following evening, there was something shy and almost nervous in her manner. Doug wondered what had changed over the course of a day to make her so preoccupied. She sat perfectly still while he painted, but it was clear her thoughts were far away. He called a break, intending to give her space to think, and the rational part of him reminded the rest that a little distance was for the best if they were to part ways soon. Thinking of that made his stomach twist, and he turned his focus to his brushes.

When he glanced up, Chell was shrugging off her jacket, revealing a plain, fitted t-shirt underneath. Her arms were bare, and the words 'Excuse me' stood out starkly on her right forearm. His blood froze as he took it in.

She was watching his reaction, so he sent her a sympathetic smile. "You…have a generic phrase," he pointed out. "Like Henry."

She nodded, and he felt that she thought he was missing something.

"You, er, must have had loads of people say that to you."

Chell nodded again, but accompanied it with a frown. Reaching into her pocket, she withdrew her cell phone and typed, 'You did'.

Doug stared at her, wide-eyed. "Did I?"

He cast his mind back to their first meeting, concluding that it was entirely possible.

Chell nodded a third time, and he felt a traitorous sliver of hope barge its way through his rational thoughts. For a moment he considered how wonderful it would be to accept it, to declare himself hers, and write off his blank arm as a glitch of the universe. But the look of hopeful anticipation on her face stopped him in his tracks. She was looking at him as if she wanted him, but he knew he couldn't do that to her. Her true soulmate was out there somewhere, the tattoo on her arm a promise that they would find each other someday. However much he might want it to be, it wasn't him. He knew that. He'd always known it.

He forced himself to chuckle lightly, even as a knife twisted in his chest. "Well, you're off the hook with me. My fate was decided long ago."

For a moment her face was completely blank as she registered his words. Then her expression turned embarrassed to hurt to confused, so fast he barely kept up. Her gaze drifted to his covered arm, but he felt no inclination to show her his lack of tattoo and see the pity in her eyes. It was bad enough from other people, but would be ten times worse from her. He cursed the twist of fate that had given her those words on her arm and made him say them.

Chell let out a noisy breath, awkwardly glancing at the floor as she composed her thoughts. Her lips were pressed tightly together in a guarded expression, her face taut with the effort. Then she looked up and quirked a tiny, forced smile.

Doug hated to see it. It paled in comparison with her genuine smiles. He searched for something to say, but came up horribly short.

She watched him struggle for a beat. Her expression became sad and thoughtful as she studied him, her gaze piercing as she scrutinised his face, looking for something he clearly hadn't said or showed. Against his better judgement, he lifted his eyes to hers, trying to discern exactly what she was searching for. It hit him like static electricity.

 _She doesn't believe me._

Absurdly, he wanted to laugh. He'd put her off, but she stubbornly refused to accept it. Still, he knew he had to try harder. Despite the length of time they'd known each other, he cared too much to let her waste her time with him.

"Uh…" he began intelligently, "I don't want to keep taking up your time like this. I can probably manage with what I have now. The painting's almost done."

She didn't react straight away, her gaze still unwavering on his face.

"Thank you," he added awkwardly, "I really appreciate you agreeing to sit for me." He tried to smile.

Chell folded her arms, raising an eyebrow at him. He interpreted it to mean _What's going on?_

He sighed, dropping the false politeness. "Chell…I don't know…" He halted, unsure how to continue. "These past few days with you have been wonderful," he said quietly. "But they can't go on. Destiny has already decided that. We can't fight fate. Nobody can."

She looked almost ready to try, fate be damned, but he saw the flicker of doubt in her eyes.

"I'm sorry if I've done anything to…" Again he trailed off. _Give the wrong impression_ , he'd been about to say. But that wasn't entirely truthful. "It's impossible."

Chell swallowed hard, her fists clenched as she dropped her arms by her sides. The look on her face begged him for an explanation, but he didn't have the strength to give one.

"I wish…" he began to say in a whisper.

But Chell shook her head. She snatched up her jacket, dashing out of the door – out of his life – so fast it left him reeling.

Doug let out a shaky breath, listening to her footsteps clattering down the stairs. She was gone. Just like that, she was gone.

He clapped a hand to his mouth, trying to calm his racing thoughts. He'd done the right thing, he knew that, but it didn't make him feel any less wretched. It was as if she had punched a hole in his ribcage and dug her nails into his heart, squeezing it until his body was nothing but a strange mixture of emptiness and pain.

Feeling lost, he paced around the studio, wondering how he was supposed to function now. He didn't feel like he could settle to anything. Working on the portrait was out of the question. He walked, he stood still, he sat, he got back up. Eventually, he let his back collide with the wall, sliding down it until he could rest his cheek on his knees. His eyes burned, but no tears fell. His fingernails cut tiny crescent-shaped marks in his arms while he tried to regain control, but he knew that nothing but time would heal him. Patience seemed very much _un_ like a virtue, and it was so out of reach it was almost laughable.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there. Time moved slowly for those in pain. The sky outside had darkened a touch when he raised his head, but it was still a light summer evening. He barely noticed that, however. It was the sound of someone running up the stairs that had his attention.

The door burst open, and Doug stared at the panting figure of Henry standing behind it, hands on his knees as he bent over in an attempt to get his breath back.

"How did you get in here?" he asked, finding his tongue.

"Your landlady," Henry explained with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I ran…all the way here… Need to talk to you."

"I'm not in the mood," Doug muttered. "Look, I'm sorry, but I'm not good company right now. We can talk at work."

"Shut up and let me speak!" Henry barked, startling him into silence. "She's mute," he announced.

Doug frowned in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

Henry straightened up. "Chell," he clarified. "She's mute."

"What?"

Henry rolled his eyes. "Get off the floor, for god's sake, and _listen_ to me. I was walking through the park, thought I'd come see how the painting was coming on, and I saw Chell sitting by the fountain. She looked pretty upset, so I started to go over and ask what was wrong. Before I reached her, a friend of hers turned up. She started talking, and Chell replied – in sign language."

Doug scrambled to his feet as Henry spoke, his frown deepening as he took it all in.

"Don't you get it?" Henry went on. "She can't speak!" He darted forward and seized Doug's arm, giving it a shake. "That's what this means!"

He shook his head at once. "No, no, that's not possible." He wrenched his arm away. "I know what this means. It's not…it can't be that."

"Why not?" Henry demanded. "You've talked to other people without tattoos, you know you're not like them. They're happy. You can't say the same, can you? This is the answer!"

Hope once again clamoured for attention, but he quashed it. It was too painful. "I don't know, Henry."

"Okay, granted, we don't know what Chell's tattoo says."

"It says 'Excuse me'," Doug told him automatically.

Henry's eyes lit up excitedly. "And?"

Doug couldn't help quirking a tiny smile at his expression. "And…that _is_ what I first said to her, but…"

"I knew it!" Henry exclaimed.

"Wait. This is all a huge coincidence. How can I know for sure? I could mess up both our lives if you're wrong about this, then it will just hurt even worse."

"Look," Henry said firmly, "I've just seen her, and she's just as cut up as you are. You two belong together. I know I'm right about this. If you never trust me on anything ever again, trust me now."

Doug bit his lip, considering. Hope found its way around his defences, flaring to life in his chest, neatly soothing the ache that Chell's departure had created.

Henry growled in almost-comical exasperation. "Doug, come _on_. Maybe it's a risk, but some things in life just are. You just have to deal with it. And isn't the reward worth it? This is the rest of your life we're talking about here."

His heartbeat increased as he realised the truth in Henry's words. Perhaps it would hurt more than anything if he was wrong, but not knowing would be worse. Far worse. Taking the step was terrifying, however, and he wildly considered what to do.

Henry shot a wary glance at the window. "All I know is that she's at the park right now, but it's going to rain. Soon."

Doug followed his gaze to the cluster of purple clouds outside. He didn't have Chell's phone number or address, nor did he know where she worked. If he didn't find her now, he might never find her again.

With that realisation, he bolted for the door, hearing Henry's triumphant "Yeah!" as he tripped down the stairs.

It was already spitting rain when he got outside, and he eyed the sky nervously as he ran. The park wasn't far, but he couldn't help feeling like he wasn't moving fast enough, like an invisible elastic band around his waist was holding him back. Finally, though, he was running across grass, weaving through trees until he could see the weathered stone of the fountain ahead.

He was the only one there.

The rain fell heavier, painting miniature crowns on the surface of the water, distorting the sight of the pennies beneath. Doug halted, lungs burning, legs unsteady. He pivoted, looking around, desperately seeking a glimpse of dark hair and brown jacket. There was nobody but a few people out for an evening stroll who had sensibly brought umbrellas.

He felt like the world's biggest fool.

He was already well on the way to getting drenched, so he took a seat on the side of the fountain, leaning his elbows on his knees as he propped his head in his hands.

Why hadn't he considered that she was mute? Why hadn't he simply asked her? Why hadn't he trusted her enough to share his lack of tattoo with her? And why hadn't he accepted Henry's explanation just five minutes sooner?

 _Maybe it does mean that I'll be alone_ , he thought, _because I think so little of myself that I couldn't accept that happiness was possible even when it was right in front of me._

He'd trusted her with his medical history, explaining his schizophrenia to her after she'd seen him take his evening dose of tablets. She hadn't considered it a big deal. So why hadn't he been able to simply roll up his sleeve? Perhaps she'd have come to the same conclusion that Henry had.

A hand on his shoulder startled him, and he looked up to see Chell, her hair not yet fully damp with rain, her expression concerned. He stared at her in confusion for a moment, wondering if he'd somehow managed to manifest her there. But then he caught sight of a young woman under an umbrella a short way away; the friend that Henry had mentioned.

He got to his feet. "Is it true?" he asked in rush. "You're mute?"

Her eyes were wide and startled, the confusion plain to see on her face as she nodded.

Doug studied her expression, realising at once that she'd thought he already knew.

"I didn't," he clarified at once. "I didn't know. I thought… You had a cold, I just assumed…"

He saw the comprehension dawn in her eyes, but she was clearly still unaware of the significance of it all. Her hand drifted to the pocket where she kept her cell phone, but she glanced at the sky, the raindrops hitting her forehead. She huffed, frustrated, and left the phone where it was.

"I always assumed you'd speak one day," Doug went on, eager to clear up the error and determine his fate, one way or the other. "But…will you? Ever speak, I mean? I'm sorry if I sound insensitive, but I need to know."

Chell's brow creased in a frown, but she shook her head in reply.

Doug let out a breath, nodding as he tried to gain control over his emotions. Hope had taken over completely, holding him so tightly in its grasp that he felt he might shatter. With unsteady hands, he undid the button at the cuff of his shirt, rolling up his sleeve.

Chell took in the sight of his unmarked skin, her mouth falling open in shock. He wondered if he'd given her the impression that he had someone else. No wonder she had left so fast after he'd tried to be truthful with her. She stepped forward, running her fingertips over the place where most people had their tattoos, moving his arm so she could check the other side just in case.

"My whole life I thought I knew what this meant," he told her earnestly.

She tilted her head to meet his gaze, her face bright with wonder.

"I tried to accept that I'd be alone forever, because there was no way this could have any other explanation. But what if…" He swallowed the lump in his throat and continued. "What if it's just that you can't speak?"

Chell processed his words, her expression one of disbelief.

"Of course, there's no way I can know for certain," he felt compelled to add. "But…if I had to base it on the way I feel, then I know…"

She cut him off, launching herself into his arms, stopping his words with a heartfelt kiss. He tightened his arms around her, relishing the fierceness of her grip on his shirt, the warmth of her lips as they began to heal the wound that misunderstanding had bestowed on them both. Perhaps it was because he was in a sentimental mood, but Doug couldn't imagine that a kiss could be so perfect if it was not between soulmates.

When they drew apart, they couldn't help grinning at each other, which warmed his heart almost as much as their embrace.

"Do you want to go somewhere drier?" he asked her.

She nodded emphatically.

"Good, because it's cold out here, and you need to teach me sign language."

Chell's smile widened, and she mouthed 'Deal'.

She tugged the damp fabric of his sleeve back down over his arm, then linked her hand in his. As they headed for the gate, she gasped and shot a look back over her shoulder. Doug followed her gaze to see her friend with the umbrella laughing, gesturing for them to go. Chell gave her a thumbs up.

Doug glanced down at her as they walked, feeling more gratitude than he could put into words. Fate was kinder than he had given it credit for, and he should have known better than to question its wisdom. Chell smiled up at him as if she could guess what he was thinking, squeezing his hand. He squeezed back, and they left the park together, sharing a smile as a starting point to sharing a life.

* * *

 **A/N:** Mute Chell equalling no tattoo, and angsty, lonely Doug were too good to pass up :)


End file.
